A Recent Earthquake...

Thoreau was atop the lighthouse.  It  was erected over an ancient marker…of sorts.  Directly in line with another lighthouse, this one on a tiny island in the sea.  A high speed boat was waiting beside it.

He was scanning the panorama from the land-locked lighthouse opposite it. Then lining up both lighthouses on the transit, writing the coordinates down. But the quiet of the lighthouse was assaulted by the swift pounding of footsteps going up the stairs. Beth was in the car..

Looking outside he could see three dark, late model vehicles below in the parking lot.  There had
only been one before. Theirs. They had been granted single access for our visit.  No one other than the retired lighthouse keeper had the key.  And locked the doors upon entry.

Beth was glad he was an accomplished rock climber. Swinging his backpack around, he grabbed hooks and rope and was ready for the descent.  Just in case.  He was more than Spiderman.

The suits appeared and moved to encircle him.  Out the window he flew with his ice pick in hand and oval wire carabiner.

Beth was waiting on the ground, convertible top down. She was glad to be driving a Dartz Jo-Mojo, glad the company let her test drive it. In seconds, Thoreau was on the ground, tucked into the
front seat as the convertible top was going up fast.

The license plate disappeared, the color changed.  They were no where to be found.  Thoreau's video camera, tucked in the back of his backpack with smaller ones on his person captured everything.

They were back to their underground lab in the bunker to download everything. They would soon know
who was behind this. They did identify one of the original markers that aliens left behind…a man in black was noticed making measurements, trying to locate it.

But Thoreau found it weeks before.  Under the marking was a tiny capsule. Inside was a flash drive with what were apparently leaked government documents.

"A recent earthquake near Washington, D.C. was the result of an underground nuclear explosion. There was interception of CIA/MOSSAD nukes in deep underground tunnels on Aug. 23, 2011. Watch for the Ring of Fire. Trust no one."

And there was more...

Leaking

After attending the Exeter, New Hampshire UFO Festival, Beth met some interesting people.  Richard Dolan, the historian, UFO researcher was more than accessible.  He was phenomenal!  Dr. Ted Loder struck a cord when he spoke about the military, industrial and financial industries all having a stake in blocking any access to UFO information. Yet everyone knows they are here!

Then it clicked.  Mitt was about to go public with classified UFO documentation. Terrified about what this would do to the economies of the super rich, they decided to set a drone on him.  Little did they know, the documentation has already been released to all the major networks, in the United States and abroad.

Beth called Thoreau immediately.

"It came to me in a remote viewing session.  I could see it crystal clear."

"Do you know what this means?" offered Thoreau.

"Everyone...I mean every single person will want this declassified.  Heck, Europe, Russia, many of the countries have opened their files.  What is with this country?"

Of course, Thoreau knew.  He was being rhetorical. 

Dr. Ted Loder nailed it at his session at the UFO Festival when he spoke about who profits from this. The film, Something Unknown: Is Doing We Don't Know What speaks about remote viewing.

http://www.somethingunknown.com/

"So that's it.  I was tossing and turning all night and it wasn't just the glass I wine I had at dinner" Beth said.

"I've been stewing the last few days and that isn't me. Something is about to happen!"

"Let's look at the sidereal clock. Remote viewing needs to be between 17.5 and 20 hours to connect. We can check this site to be sure we are in the right time zone:

http://www.jgiesen.de/astro/astroJS/siderealClock/

"Okay, we can start remote viewing.  I will hold something in my hand and you can tell me what it is." 

Higher And Higher

In and out!

That's how they fly.  Blink and they are gone.  Out!  No one expected to see a drone in a small rural airport. They began to wonder.  Why?  What was the pull?

Nearly everyone was talking about the dark operations going on throughout the country.  But there was an especially heavy presence in western North Carolina around PARI (Pisgah Astronomical Research Institute) in Rosman, North Carolina.  Black helicopters, UFOs.  Some say it is the crystals in the mountains, other the clandestine government activity.  What was going on under PARI?  Why such secrecy?

Was it that the mountains simulated Pakistan?  It is a designated military flight path.  Jet pack fliers.  Black hawk helicopters. C-130s.

But no one.  Not a soul expected to see a drone in an unused, small rural airport that day. Broad daylight. They began to wonder.  Why?

There was something odious in the air.  We both felt it. We began to syllabicate. Was this more than a coincidence?

We allowed our minds to wander.  Consider this:

Rosman, NC.  Roswell, NM. 

Roswell, NM ~ 65 years ago.  6 + 5 = 11.  1+1 = 2.

From  http://www.in5d.com/1111-repetitive-numbers.html: 

"11 represents spiraling twin strands of human DNA moving into higher frequency of consciousness.
11 represents balance.
11+11=22=4=Time. 22 is a Master or Masonic Number.

Some souls see a Golden Age emerging, as told by the ancient prophets. Gold refers to Alchemy , the alchemical changes that are taking place in our bodies in the evolution of consciousness.

 Physical reality is a consciousness program created by digital codes. Numbers, numeric codes, define our existence. Human DNA, our genetic memory, is encoded to be triggered by digital codes at specific times and frequencies. Those codes awaken the mind to the change and evolution of consciousness. 11:11 is one of those codes, meaning activation of DNA.
You will note that seeing 11 11 frequently creates synchronicities in your life.
11:11 - 11 is a double digit and is therefore considered a Master or Power Number. In Numerology 11 represents impractical idealism, visionary, refinement of ideals, intuition, revelation, artistic and inventive genius, avant-garde, androgynous, film, fame, refinement fulfilled when working with a practical partner. Eleven is a higher octave of the number two . It carries psychic vibrations and has an equal balance of masculine and feminine properties. Because eleven contains many gifts such as psychic awareness and a keen sense of sensitivity, it also has negative effects such as treachery and betrayal from secret enemies.

Many associate 11:11 with a wake-up code/alarm as they see it on digit clocks and watches. It can also be seen as a key to unlock the subconscious mind, our genetic encoded memories, that we are spirits having a physical experience, not physical beings embarking on a spiritual experience.

11:11 or derivatives of these numbers, 111 and 11, are digits that repeat in time thus a metaphor for reality as patterns that repeat in time for us to experience. This can refer to the rise and fall of civilizations, our personal experiences and lessons, loops in time. They are cycles of time that create and recreate following the blueprint."


Roswell.  Rosman. 

Another theory:

ROS.  Reactive Oxygen Species.  

Reactive oxygen species (ROS) are chemically-reactive molecules containing oxygen. Examples include oxygen ions and peroxides. Reactive oxygen species are highly reactive due to the presence of unpaired valence shell electrons. ROS form as a natural byproduct of the normal metabolism of oxygen and have important roles in cell signaling. However, during times of environmental stress (e.g., UV or heat exposure), ROS levels can increase dramatically. This may result in significant damage to cell structures. This cumulates into a situation known as oxidative stress. ROS are also generated by exogenous sources such as ionizing radiation.  Source:  http://encyclopedia.thefreedictionary.com/reactive+oxygen+species

Is what we suspect really happening?

The Drone Of It All

 http://www.huffingtonpost.com/news/drones

Beth had always been intuitive.  Even as a young child. She just knew things that were going on.  It wasn't like she could communicate with another being, but she just knew.  After her UFO encounter, things just amped up.

Thoreau had the 'knowing', too.  The more he tuned in, well, let's just say the more he knew.  He saw all kinds of things in the sky. And being a top photojournalist, he knew where to go for the goods. 

But the drone was puzzling.  Under the current government, boundaries, envelopes...were being pushed.  Nothing was private anymore.  The drones could read letters as they were being written.  And that is just the start of what they could do.

Thoreau was a whiz when it came to anything computer driven.  And such an all around nice man.  He also liked the truth.  Had no patience for anything that even remotely smacked of being dishonorable.

After their business retreat, they had an idea.

Seatbelts

Rachael stood there in shock, clutching her chest where her heart was. 

She couldn't even utter a sentence. She was in shock. Mitt wasn't her husband anymore. It was Mitt, but his thoughts and mind were gone. Before the shift in his personality, he mentioned some three letter branch of the government and their black-ops in Switzerland. Rachael didn't know what he was talking about. After all, he was supposed to be in some "research" branch of a political think-tank.

He was in much deeper than she knew.

They had programmed him to be a reader. A visionary to see the future. He saw too much. They wanted him gone. The morning he went crazy, he had his breakfast, was getting ready for work and had a glass of water with his vitamins. About five minutes later, his uttering began. 

"You see–I knew it–they're using the oldest trick in the book," Beth said.

They've poisoned the water...that's the easiest way to get rid of someone who knows too much–poison, Beth told Rachael. 

A loud "SHHOOOOOOOOOSHHHHHHHH" was heard overhead. Thoreau looked up. It was a predator drone. It wasn't the reconnaissance model either -- it was the defender model, fully armed. 

"Let's get the hell outta here Thoreau," Beth said, grabbing Rachael by her shirt. 

They ushered themselves into the Subaru. What direction is it circling in Thoreau?

North---wait--Northwest.

Beth began to drive Southeast.

 

"They have a three minute window before they loopback," she said hurriedly, popping the car into gear and slamming down the gas. 

"What's a loopback and what the hell is going on?" Rachael said as she snapped back into consciousness.

"The loopback window is the amount of time from the drone's first pass until it loops back to attack," Thoreau said, wiping sweat off his forehead.

"Attack? What???" Rachael exclaimed.

"They probably meant to poison you too," Beth said. 

 

"You're involved now. "But I don't know anything," Rachael said.

Beth ditched her car in the underground lot at the bus station. She bought three tickets with cash. 

 

"Put your hood up on your jacket," Beth said to her. 

 

"They use facial recognition now at these terminals. They'll cast a wide net since your body won't be found in your prius."

"BODY? WHAT?" Rachael said.

"Just shut up and get on the bus, we'll explain."

They hurried up the steps, the last passengers before the bus pulled out for the city.

"What was your husband working on?" Thoreau asked. 

 

"I already told you I don't know," Rachael said.

"He was supposed to go to Geneva, Switzerland in a week, but that's the extent that I know. He worked late hours and didn't bring his work home," she said. 

GENEVA? Beth knew exactly where and what he was doing. Back in her days at Cornell she worked abroad in a lab that researched human programming, and from what Beth gathered in the back channels about Mitt, that's what he was working on too.

"Excuse me, can I borrow your phone?" Beth said to a train passenger. 

"Sure," the teenager said. 

Beth was calling a friend for a favor. She'd given out enough chips in her career, it was time to call a few in that were due her. Beth never sat more than a few seats away from the most influential people in politics and government. She had the highest clearances of any civilian. 

One time the mayor of New York needed a situation investigated so he called Beth. She wasn't a "cleaner", she was a "fixer" of sorts. She knew all the right people. Her success rate - 100 percent. 

Nowadays she focuses on using that vast network to help her solve crimes. It used to be for the rich and famous, but now she only took on cases that piqued her interest. She didn't charge either. Thoreau joined her last year. They had met in the South.

"I need a CL35 background report on a Mitt Roberson, every known connection, call he made, I want to know everytime he blew his nose in the past month" she said hushed into the phone. 

 

"Yes, I know..." she said. 

 

"Just get it for me, I don't care who you have to wake up...you owe me." 

 

She hung up the flip phone with a close, one that she commanded powerfully.

"Thanks hon," she said passing the phone back to the teen.

"OK, sit tight Thoreau, we're gonna figure this one out," she said.

Crime Mystery Weekend: The Reunion

Stillwell had to go.  Her family needed her.  She had been longing for a long time. The house would stand on its own as it always had.

Thoreau was ready for another adventure.  The last one, well, let's just say it took them both by surprise.  The ending and all.  I mean DNA in twelve hours.  C'mon.  But hey. There is no accounting for technology. Rapidimente.

Stillwell had an affinity for anything Vermont.  Call it Holstein, barns, rolling countryside. Cheese.  Working landscapes. They are used to produce earth goods, outdoor recreation, food and fiber.  The land of the sugarbush, pastures, quarries and birch trees.  Mostly rural.

Stillwell has just collected Thoreau from Logan.  His flight was earlier than anticipated.  The Subaru couldn't get into Vermont fast enough.   A direct route up 93 turning west into Ripton and down one country road after another.  Down and up is more like it.

We stopped at the Ripton Country Store for a bag lunch; a couple of spinach wraps with the best Thai dressing and  two grape Nehi.  We had just pulled over to the right onto a dirt road to eat.  Thoreau was snapping photographs of an old barn and deceased farm tractors.  Circa 1923. 

A screaming female voice was heard instantly.   Dust followed a late model blue Prius down the lane.  Thoreau continued filming.  I didn't know what to make of this.

Then we saw her, hand over heart.  Limping.  We got out of our vehicle running to her side.

"Don't let him get away.  He isn't right.  He was fine until about six weeks ago.  This dark car, navy, I think came into our driveway.  Mitt was supposed to be going back to Quantico.  The Marine Corps area, FBI Training Academy.  But before he left he told me he had to get out.  Fast.  Things were happening.  The country was changing fast.  Evil was everywhere."  

"What did he do for the FBI?"

"Remote viewing."

We checked to see if she had been shot.  She was fine, shaken was all.

"But they were escalating things.  I think he was brain washed or something.  Kept talking about someone he had to remove.  He was very frighten.  Focused.  It isn't Mitt. I think he was programmed there, to do something awful.  When I tried to stop him, he took off."

"Have any idea what is happening?"

"It is something to do with the election.  He's like the advance man.  Setting people up who get to close to what is really going on.  Ut oh.  I think I said too much."

 

Not Bad

The next morning I decided to follow the boat thinking it was going in the direction of the Isle of Shoals. They are a series of nine islands in the archipelago in an area known as the Gulf of Maine.  Biologists, oceanographers and geologists study it.  Cornell University studies this area.  Its home to rocks and brambles, migratory birds, harbor seals even raise their pups on Duck Island. And, it is a great place to hide.

I was sure to bring binoculars, just in case.  Thoreau was meeting with the forensic team back on the mainland. 

To the far left of the picture, I saw the boat.  It's red, white and blue coloring was the give-away.  Motioning to the captain to circle the boat, I drew closer.  

 All night, I kept thinking about the palette knife in the sand. And Mr. Appleton.  Just then, my cell phone rang.

"You won't believe this.  There is a twelve hour DNA test now.  The prints belong to Mr. Appleton. Heck, let's call him by the name everyone else calls him, "Klaus."  Shades of Klaus von Bulow." 

I remembered my FBI friend's comment about him. "Guilty as H - he did it, clever that he is." Though he was never found guilty.  Has his hands on millions.

"He is in his boat," I said to Thoreau.

"Okay, the police and FBI are here.  A helicopter is coming in to take them to the Coast Guard boat.  The copter will encircle Klaus."

Less than ten minutes later, the call came through.

"We got 'em."

My spine shivered.  Not bad for not-so- amateur sleuths.  Not bad.